The Faded Masquerade
The rain had not stopped for three days, a steady, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of Millhaven into a slick, mirror-like expanse reflecting the dying light of the gaslamps, and Elias Thorne stood in the center of his workshop, watching the water drip from the eaves onto the pavement below with a rhythm that felt less like weather and more like a countdown, a relentless ticking that...
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